


Coffee and Crullers

by firstdegreefangirl



Series: Chenford Week 2020 [3]
Category: The Rookie (TV 2018)
Genre: Chenford Week 2020, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Jackson is a Good Friend, Lazy Mornings, Mornings, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tim knows Lucy so well, too well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25268116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstdegreefangirl/pseuds/firstdegreefangirl
Summary: He knows Lucy’s favorites, that she likes the crullers at the bakery around the corner, but the coffee from the shop halfway to the station. Usually she makes her peace with either coffee that isn’t quite sweet enough or pastries that aren’t as airy as she likes.Tim doesn’t get it, doesn't pretend that he understands ordering coffee any way other than black or could tell an airy pastry if it hit him in the head. But he knows that it matters to Lucy, and she shouldn’t have to settle for anything. Ever, but especially not today.
Relationships: Tim Bradford/Lucy Chen
Series: Chenford Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1827838
Comments: 10
Kudos: 93
Collections: Chenford Week 2020





	Coffee and Crullers

**Author's Note:**

> So I didn't mean for the angst on this to go on as long as it did. But I also didn't expect things to turn out as long-winded as Tim ended up becoming, so it balances out. Enjoy!

The first thing Tim notices when he wakes up is that it’s way too dark in his room, even with his eyes closed. Also, the bed is facing the wrong direction and the mattress is entirely too soft. 

Or, he’s not in his bedroom at all, which is probably the more likely scenario. 

It’s also the truth, he finds, when he opens his eyes. There’s a soft-colored canopy hanging over the bedframe, and yellow walls that Tim recognizes as soon as he sees them. 

He’s in Lucy’s room, in Lucy and Jackson’s apartment, and that’s why nothing looks or feels like his house. 

He takes stock of his own limbs and finds that he’s still wearing his sweatpants, and that the pocket containing his cellphone has sagged back far enough that he’s almost lying on top of the device. Carefully, he reaches down with the arm not pinned underneath Lucy’s body and fishes it out to check the time. 

7:15 a.m. He’s got no idea how he slept in that long, especially in a relatively unfamiliar environment. Even at home, he’s usually up by 6:30, unless something happened the night before. 

Did something happen? His brain is still fogged with the last edges of sleep, but he knows he went to sleep in his own bedroom last night, so there must have been a reason that he ended up in Lucy’s bed. 

He rubs at his eyes, and as he comes the rest of the way awake, details start coming back. 

* * *

He’d gotten ready for bed, laid down and fallen asleep almost immediately, just like every other night. 

If he’d dreamed, he doesn’t remember, but the next thing he knows, his ringtone is cutting through his sleep, startling him awake. 

There are only two numbers that override his do not disturb settings: Lucy’s and his mother’s. Angela used to be on the list, since he’d been her emergency contact before she met Wesley, but when she found out, she’d taken to calling him at 3 a.m. when she was drinking at home, just to see if he’d pick up the phone. He always had, but as soon as she’d had someone else looking out for her, he’d changed the settings back. 

So as soon as he realizes the hellacious noise is his phone, his heart drops to his stomach. If his phone is ringing at 2:45 a.m., there’s no way it’s good news. He fumbles to reach for it, sees the vague shape of Lucy’s name on the screen as he answers the call. 

“Boo-Lucy?” He catches himself on the nickname; if something is serious enough that she’s calling him at this time of night, it’s serious enough for her first name. 

“Officer Bradford.” 

OK, so it’s not Lucy. 

“West? Where are you?” Tim feels himself bristle; if Jackson is calling from Lucy’s phone, things must be even worse than if Lucy had called from Lucy’s phone. “Where’s Lucy? Is everything OK?” 

“I’m in her room, she’s right here, she’s safe.” But he doesn’t say that she’s OK, and Tim notices the evasion. 

Safe is good. He wants her to be safe. But ‘safe’ and ‘OK’ aren't the same thing, and Jackson still hasn’t given him any more information. 

“What’s going on?” 

“Lucy’s awake. She’s, uh … she asked for you. Several times, actually.” Jackson hesitates, falling silent, and Tim listens closely for any background noise. It only takes a second before he can pick out Lucy’s gasping sobs. 

“I’m on my way. Give her the phone.” There’s no hesitation in his voice, no questions to ask. He hears Jackson tell Lucy that he’s talking to him, then some shuffling before Jackson’s voice comes back over the line distantly. 

“You’re on speaker. She’s holding onto the blankets.” 

Tim holds the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he tugs a T-shirt over his head and crams his feet into his boots. There are words coming out of his mouth, but he doesn’t know what they are, can’t focus his thoughts on anything but the way Lucy is gasping for air. 

_Like_ _there’s not enough air for her to breathe._

He’s in the truck before he knows it, sliding the truck into reverse and rolling out of the driveway. As soon as he’s in gear, he’s pressing down on the accelerator, pushing himself toward Lucy’s apartment faster than is technically legal. 

Whatever, professional courtesy, right? Besides, California state driving laws matter, but some things matter more. 

He manages to shave five minutes off of the drive, but it still feels like he’s in the truck for entirely too long, like he’s taken years to get halfway across town. 

Tim is still holding his phone in one hand as he pulls the keys back out of the ignition, doesn’t hang up the call until he’s pushing the front door open, and keeps talking until he’s sitting down on the edge of the bed and pulling Lucy gently into his arms. 

Even then, the words are still tumbling endlessly from his lips, now in a hushed whisper. He’s sitting cross-legged this time, but the way he holds her is the same as the day he knows she’s reliving. One hand cradles her head, bracing her against his chest as she drops the comforter to cling to his shirt. He runs his other hand along her side, like he’d checked for broken ribs last time. Today, it reassures them both, lets her know that he’s there as much as it proves to him that she’s alive, solid under his touch. After a minute, he starts to rock back and forth, cradling her against him with both hands. 

He still can’t pick out the words coming out of his own mouth, but Lucy is shaking less as the tears run out, calming down the longer Tim holds her. When he looks up, Tim notices that Jackson had slipped away at some point, left Tim and Lucy to their privacy. He also notices that the room is a little blurry, until he blinks away the tears that have formed in his own eyes. 

Finally, Lucy’s tears stop and she sags against him under the weight of her own exhaustion. 

Tim tangles his fingers in her hair, pressing light circles into her scalp, until she takes a shaky breath and whispers against his chest. 

“T-Tim?” 

“Hey, baby.” He kisses the spot right above her ear. “Know where you are?” 

“My bedroom.” Lucy’s voice is soft, her words muffled against the material of Tim’s shirt, but there’s no hesitation. “When did you get here?” 

“Jackson called me.” He’s not sure how long she’d cried, doesn’t want to upset or confuse her with a timeline, so Tim goes for the simple answer. “Feeling better?” 

“Yeah. ‘M tired, though.” It comes out almost as a whine, and Tim shifts his hold until they’re both laying down. 

“Panic attacks will do that. Want to try and sleep some more?” 

He hopes she’ll say yes, hopes they can both rest a little longer. But if Lucy doesn’t think she can sleep, Tim knows he’ll stay awake with her, try to talk her into an afternoon nap on their day off. 

“Mhmm. Stay?” Lucy rolls into him, tucks herself halfway on top of him, like she’s trying to hold him in place. 

_As if he’d even dream of leaving when she needs him here, with her._

“Of course.” 

* * *

Tim sighs as the memory plays itself out. 

_That explains why he slept so much later than usual._

He looks down, sees that Lucy is still passed out on top of him. It's not surprising; as worked up as she’d been last night, Tim expects that she’ll sleep for at least another hour. And even when she wakes up, she’ll still be exhausted. Tomorrow, things will be back to normal, but Tim knows firsthand how draining panic can be, every system in her body on high-alert until there’s nothing left for it to run on anymore. 

At least neither of them have to work today, and he’d planned to spend the day with Lucy anyway. They hadn’t made any plans, other than to be in each other's company, but Tim figures they could both use a quiet day together, nothing to get done, no deadlines to meet. It’s rare that they’re both off at the same time, since they’re riding different units now, but every so often, they get lucky and the days overlap. 

These days are among Tim’s favorites, with neither of them rushing out the door, checking gun belts and straightening nametags. He’ll take however much of Lucy’s time she’s willing to give, but there’s nothing better than an entire day where they can do anything they come up with, however frivolous or practical it may be. 

And he knows that such a day should start with breakfast. 

He knows Lucy’s favorites, that she likes the crullers at the bakery around the corner, but the coffee from the shop halfway to the station. Usually she makes her peace with either coffee that isn’t quite sweet enough or pastries that aren’t as airy as she likes. 

Tim doesn’t get it, doesn't pretend that he understands ordering coffee any way other than black or could tell an airy pastry if it hit him in the head. But he knows that it matters to Lucy, and she shouldn’t have to settle for anything. Ever, but especially not today. 

He holds her for a moment longer, reaches for both of their phones and makes sure that hers is silenced before typing out a short text message. 

_Should be back before you wake up. If not, went to get breakfast._

Once the message sends, he carefully extricates himself from Lucy’s clutches and stretches. His back pops when he rolls his shoulders, a sure sign that he’s spent too much time in the same position. When he’s confident that he managed the move without waking Lucy up, he opens the door slowly and slips out as soon as the crack is big enough to fit through. 

He tugs the door closed, latching it silently as he turns toward the door. 

Jackson is sitting at the kitchen island, hands wrapped around a mug, staring at Tim. 

“Where are you going?” 

There’s no reason for Tim to be intimidated by Jackson. He’s practically still a rookie. Hell, he still calls him ‘Officer Bradford,’ even outside of work. He shouldn’t be remotely worried about seeing Jackson here or anywhere else. 

He hasn’t done anything wrong; he’s just picking up breakfast for his girlfriend. Jackson knows he’s over, had called him at almost 3 a.m. and asked him to come over. 

But Jackson is still staring at him, and Tim’s heart is pounding even harder than it had the night he’d dropped his high school girlfriend off 20 minutes past curfew and found her dad waiting for them on the driveway. 

“Mary’s, right?” He only hesitates for a second, even if his mind is still racing. “The bakery right around the corner. And Bean There, Done That.” 

“You’re leaving?” Jackson’s eyes narrow and Tim ignores his sudden urge to flee the room. 

He’s older and more experienced than Jackson, has given his fair share of shovel talks along the way, but he’s only been on this end of things a handful of times. 

“I’m coming back. She’s dead asleep, probably for another hour or so. This way, she wakes up to coffee and crullers.” Tim forces himself to breathe, refuses to let Jackson rile him up any more than he already has. 

“You’re buying her crullers?” Jackson raises his eyebrows, and Tim can’t place his expression. “Those are pure sugar.” 

“Ever seen her turn one down?” Tim knows the answer; half the time Lucy will make a remark about her carb counts or the sugar content, but she always eats at least two crullers anyway. They’re a rare indulgence, something Lucy never bothers trying to pass off as even being halfway healthy. 

And she deserves that today. Tim wants to give her that today, bask in the glow Lucy gives off when she lets herself be spoiled. When she lets Tim spoil her. 

“Besides,” he continues. “She’ll need the energy anyway, after how late she was up.” 

It's a safer answer than the truth, something he can say without showing Jackson too much of his hand. 

And it’s the right move, too, given the way Jackson’s face softens into a smile as he sips his coffee. 

“Good man, Bradford.” There’s approval in his tone, but Tim isn’t sure why that matters to him. “If she wakes up, I’ll let her know.” 

“Appreciate it.” He nods once and pulls the front door open. There’s still plenty of time for him to make both stops and be back before Lucy wakes up. 

Tim doesn't need to rush, but he also knows how to make sure that he’s as efficient as he can be, doesn’t want to lose time that he could spend with Lucy, even if she’s still asleep. 

So he pulls out of the apartment complex and sets his course for the coffee shop, looking up the bakery at the first red light that stops him. He taps the phone number and places an order for a dozen crullers, ready for him to pick up in half an hour. 

The order completes just as he joins the drive-thru line at the coffee shop. There’s an SUV in front of him, rear windshield littered with half a dozen stick-figure variations of the same family, all in different themes. 

He doesn’t feel bad about mentally cursing the soccer mom, because one set of decals tells him that it’s true: two of the shorter people are pictured with jerseys and soccer balls. Besides, she’s taking forever, long enough that Tim has read all of the PTA bumper stickers plastered across the fender. 

Twice. 

He’s contemplating his horn, just a light tap to remind her that there are other people with mornings to get underway. Finally, she pulls away from the speaker, and Tim rolls forward before she can realize she’s forgotten something and try to back into him. 

The voice in the speaker crackles to life, offers to take his order. 

“Hey there, can I get a large black coffee, no room for cream? And an iced latte, vanilla creamer and a pump of cinnamon. And … the cinnamon sprinkle on top, please?” He feels his nose wrinkle in distaste, but has Lucy’s order memorized nonetheless and is happy to sacrifice a little bit of pride to make her morning better. 

While the cashier runs his card, Tim drops a few dollar bills into the tip jar hanging from the window, in thanks to the baristas helping him brighten Lucy’s day. 

The first sip of his drink is just this side of too hot, but gives him the first push of energy that he needs to get back across town and pick up the crullers. He slides the soft blue box gently onto the passenger seat of his truck, and briefly considers fastening the seatbelt around it. But he realizes that it could crush the sides of the box, so he decides to just drive carefully. 

It adds a few minutes to the last leg of his trip, but he’s still making good time, still confident that he’ll be back in bed with Lucy before she even knows he’s gone. 

Jackson is still sitting at the counter when he walks back into the apartment, so Tip flips the lid of the box open and holds it out to him as a peace offering. 

“Thanks.” It feels awkward on his tongue, a rare moment of sincerity with a rookie he only trained for a day. “For calling me.” 

“Thanks for coming.” Jackson takes a pastry, and Tim is vaguely relieved to see that he looks just as uneasy as Tim feels. The power balance between them has been restored, Jackson sitting up a little straighter in Tim’s presence. 

He’s not sure what to say next, but Jackson doesn’t say anything either, so he closes the box again and slips back into Lucy’s room. 

She’s rolled over, curled herself around the pillow Tim had leaned against all night, still fast asleep. Tim stands there for a minute, just barely inside the door, and watches her. She’s not moving, but he can see the steady rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathes. 

It’s peaceful, quiet in the best way. This moment makes a sharp contrast from how Lucy had looked the last time Tim had stepped into her room, curled around her knees and shaking under the force of her own sobs. 

He loves her, no matter what the circumstances, but this is his favorite version of Lucy, relaxed and comfortable, the weight of the world off of her shoulders. 

Tim toes his shoes off and sits down on the edge of the mattress. It shifts under his weight, even as he lowers his weight carefully, so he takes the more abrupt route, lays back in one fluid motion and hopes it won’t jostle Lucy too much. 

He can’t win them all, though. The movement makes her stir, and she rolls to face him. With her eyes closed, she misses the distance and ends up with her face squished against his arm. She tries to throw an arm across his stomach, but the bakery box rests on his chest, and all she manages to do is smack the top of it and groan. 

“Shh, just me.” He shifts the box further up his chest, and guides her arm over his middle, tangling their fingers together at his side. “Go back to sleep.” 

“Nope. Nuh-uh.” Lucy’s eyes open blearily, and she tries to look around without having to sit up. From the angle she’s lying at, there isn’t much to see, though, so she pushes up to one elbow and peers at Tim. “Do I smell coffee?” 

He can tell that she hasn’t seen the plastic cup beading condensation on her nightstand, so he smiles and sits up. 

“Jackson’s got the pot going. But I thought you might like this better.” Tim reaches for the cup and holds it out for her. 

“Bean There, Done That? Ugh, best boyfriend _ever.”_

When she makes grabby hands at the cup, Tim hands it over. He knows she hasn’t had any coffee yet, obviously, so he gives her the pass on not having questioned the box that’s slid down to his lap. 

“If that’s all it takes, I’ll keep these crullers for myself, then.” 

“Crullers?” She perks up a little bit more, but he can’t tell if it’s from the coffee or the mention of the pastries. Regardless, Lucy in the morning is the cutest thing Tim’s ever seen, and he can’t keep the smile off of his face as he pokes his hand in the edge of the box and hands her one of the treats. 

“Figured I’d make sure your day off starts on a good note.” At that, she blushes and smiles as she nibbles at the fried edges. “Any plans?” 

She shakes her head. 

“Not unless we make some.” 

“Let’s not. I think we could both use an easy day. How about we eat breakfast here, see what we’re feeling after?” 

Lucy nods, and Tim rubs his hand up and down her side gently. 

The conversation fades out, until they’ve each eaten three crullers and the coffee cups are drained. With wordless agreement, they move out to the couch, where Lucy tucks herself back against Tim’s side for a few hours of mid-day game shows. 

The silence breaks when they start playing along, shouting at the contestants on The Price is Right (and occasionally a little bit at each other), until they’re both laughing, pressed together almost impossibly close. When the show ends, Tim kisses the top of Lucy’s head and standing up. 

He raids the fridge, fixing a couple of sandwiches with leftover cold cuts, leads Lucy by the hand out to the truck and drives them to the park. They eat lunch sitting shoulder to shoulder on a park bench, watching the people go by, letting the city exist around them on the first day in a while that neither of them have owed it any protection. 

It’s a quiet meal; Tim knows Lucy is still drained, can feel the exhaustion coming off of her in waves. He wraps an arm around her shoulders, lets her lean on his chest and absorb some of his energy. When people-watching grows tiresome, he rests his chin on top of her head and chooses his words carefully. 

“Up for a quick grocery run? I can get stuff, make enchiladas for dinner?” 

Lucy considers the question for a moment, then nods. 

“Can you stay over again? I … I want to sleep in my bed tonight.” 

As if he’d ever deny her anything. Especially if it means getting to fall asleep next to her. 

“Of course. Whatever I can do, just say the word.” 

“Stay.” 

And he does, until the kitchen is cleaned up after dinner (for three; Jackson turns out to be better company than Tim had thought, even if he is awfully professional for a guy in his own house). Then he lets Lucy lead him to her room, follows her into her bed. When they’re both laid down, he pulls Lucy into his arms, cradles her against his chest. Right before they fall asleep, he kisses her forehead softly and feels her smile against his skin. 

He could get used to this, he thinks, holding Lucy every night. 

_Maybe he’ll have to do something to make that happen._

**Author's Note:**

> Have I mentioned how much fun I have naming fictional coffee shops?


End file.
